


The 7 Deadly Sins

by effystonem



Series: The 7 Deadly Sins [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Could be read platonically if you really would like, M/M, Soul Mate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effystonem/pseuds/effystonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can remember when the stripes first appeared on his wrist, colour growing stronger each day. He can remember his parents talking in hushed voices, quieting when Sherlock entered the room. He can remember Mycroft's stripes, and how they weren't that different from Sherlock's own. Now, he can hardly remember a time before the stripes coloured his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 7 Deadly Sins

Sherlock can remember when the stripes first appeared on his wrist, colour growing stronger each day. He can remember his parents talking in hushed voices, quieting when Sherlock entered the room. He can remember Mycroft's stripes, and how they weren't that different from Sherlock's own. Now, he can hardly remember a time before the stripes coloured his arms. 

Sherlock can remember his mother teaching him about the stripes. 

"The first stripe represents your Virtue," she would explain to him gently, running her fingers through his curls. "Indigo, for intelligent. My clever boy."

"And Mycroft has blue," Sherlock would repeat blankly, confused that his brother didn't have indigo for intelligent too.

"Ambition," she would reply, smiling. "The second stripe is your Sin. Orange, for pride. You mustn't take this lightly, dear, and you must learn to be humble."

"Orange," Sherlock would say, testing out the word in his mouth, "for pride. Mycroft has that, too, Mummy!"

She would laugh and say, "yes, he does. And Sherlock, do you remember what the third stripe means?"

"Yes," Sherlock would reply immediately, remembering what he had heard before. "The third stripe is your Bond. The colours of your soul mate."

"Good, Sherlock. The orange Virtue, brave, and the green Sin, envy. You two will be quite a pair someday."

Sherlock would nod pensively. Yes, they would, he thought, when he found the brave, envious person who was looking for a Sherlock, they would be quite a pair.

* * *

Sherlock met many people throughout his lifetime, all with different colours and combinations on their arms. Some people had two stripes of the same colour, like Lestrade, who's stripes were both red (the Virtue of honesty and the Sin of wrath). Most people had different combinations. Sherlock met others with similar stripes to his own, and he never got along with them. He met people with bravery and envy on their arms, but they never had intelligence and pride on theirs. It was a painful, ongoing search to find the one person that could balance out Sherlock.

* * *

"Bit different from my day," said the short, obviously military man that had just followed Mike Stamford into the lab at St. Bart's. Sherlock watched him intently, curiously.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," Sherlock lied. He knew the outcome of this, obviously, as Mike's phone was not in its' usual front pocket spot. The man would lend him his, if he was decent, and Sherlock could get a lot of information out of this.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked Sherlock, amused.

"I prefer to text." This, at least, was honest.

"Sorry, it's in my coat," Mike shrugged unapologetically. 

"Here, use mine," the man offered, leaning forward. Sherlock caught sight of the top of an orange stripe beneath his sleeve.

"Oh, thank you," Sherlock said, pretending to be surprised.

"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson," Mike introduced. Plain, common name, Sherlock noted. Half the time Sherlock wished he'd gone by his first name, William, because Sherlock was a bloody awful name to have at times.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock was going to show off, and it was going to be fun.

"Sorry?" John looked flustered.

"Which one was it? In Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you..." John was baffled, Sherlock was incredibly amused.

Molly Hooper chose this moment to enter the room, sleeves rolled up with yellow and green stripes on full display, holding Sherlock's coffee.

"Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you. What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," Sherlock mused.

Molly paused, and then replied, resigned, "...okay."

Sherlock turned back to John, eager to show off.  _Pride,_ his mother's voice said, somewhere deep in the back of his mind. "How do you feel about the violin?"

"I'm sorry, what?" John, clearly, could not keep up. Orange for brave, perhaps, as a veteran, but he certainly would not have deserved Sherlock's indigo stripe.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometime I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock smirked, now.

"You told him about me?" John looked over at Mike, wide-eyed.

"Not a word," Mike grinned, amused.  _Like Sherlock was a game, a toy, a fun party trick._

"Then who said anything about flatmates?"

"I did. Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap," Sherlock explained.  _Tedious._

"How did you know about Afghanistan?"

"Got my eyes on a nice little place in central London, we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Sherlock put on his coat, tied up his scarf, and made his way for the door, masking his smirk.

"Is that it?" John raised his eyebrows.

"Is that what?"

"We've only just met, and we're going to go and look for a flat?"

"Problem?" Sherlock challenged.

"We don’t know a thing about each other. I don’t know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name," John said, baffled.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I know you're an Army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. You've got a brother worried about you, but you won’t go to him for help, because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife, and I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid. Your Virtue is bravery, although that is obvious seeing as you  _are_ a veteran."

John's eyes were wide. "And let me guess, yours is intelligence?"

Sherlock nodded in affirmation. "Hardly a difficult deduction."

John grinned. "And your Sin, then... I'm going to say pride."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes. Your Sin, then, Doctor Watson? I haven't been able to work that out yet."

John rolled up his sleeve, revealing three perfect stripes.  _Orange. Green. Indigo-and-orange._

Sherlock paled. Eager to leave, he said, "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think? The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon."

And promptly exited the lab.

* * *

 _Soul mates,_ Sherlock thought. The very idea was dizzying. He had his doubts. Maybe it was coincidence. There had to be people with that exact combination all over the world. 

But Sherlock only needed to hear three words to know it wasn't coincidence.

_"Oh God, yes."_

 

 

 


End file.
